


Some Nights Are Made For Torture

by Im_The_Doctor (Bofur1)



Category: Video Blogging RPF, Youtube RPF
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Beating, Begging, Blood Loss, Blood and Torture, Bruises, Choking, Cutting, Defiance, Desperation, Heavy Angst, Horror, Hurt No Comfort, I'm Sorry, Imprisonment, Insults, Kidnapping, Manhandling, Mocking, Multiple Selves, Psychological Trauma, Strangulation, The Author Regrets Everything, Whump, heed the tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 08:54:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13948128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Im_The_Doctor
Summary: As more and more little puppets arrived and began to rely on Jackieboy, Anti had known. That useless doctor, the charmer, the pathetic vlogger... The sooner he broke their protector, the sooner he could break the rest of them.





	Some Nights Are Made For Torture

**Author's Note:**

> Ohh, boy. Thiiiis was a prompt fill from Tumblr and it turned out dark. Please don’t read if you’re sensitive to torture – physical, psychological, emotional, any of it. I mean that. This is Anti and it’s graphic.

It wasn’t as if he had _expected_ more out of the hero than what he was getting, but Anti was getting every single thing he had hoped for. The cries he wrung out of him were just the right pitch, higher, hoarser with every blow. The gasp of release as Jackieboy slumped low against his chains, his breath stuttering as he tried to recover from the crushing assault, was music to the Glitch’s ears.

Even so, now that he was being granted these gifts, he wanted more.

He had been waiting for this day ever since the idealistic boy in his stupid red jumpsuit and crooked mask had waltzed into Egos Central without permission. Ever since he’d laid eyes on him, Anti had wanted to tear him apart.

He was the personification of everything Jack stood for; as more and more little puppets arrived and began to rely on Jackieboy, he had known. The hero had _brothers_ to protect: that useless doctor, the charmer, the pathetic vlogger. The sooner he broke their protector, the sooner he could break the rest of them. Their bond was _infuriating_. The more he tried to break him, the stronger Jackieboy’s resolve grew.

Not this time. After so many weeks now, the poor puppet was finally starting to lose his luster. He was slumped over his knees, head hanging low, his skin sporting a grayish undertone; he’d been without his powers too long. His jumpsuit hung in tatters, some patches darker than the rest, dripping. Anti couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight of it.

“Re͡d ͡is͘ s̨u̸ch a p̨retty ͡col̷o̕r,” he commented sweetly, to which Jackieboy flinched ever so slightly, the chains hissing against the cracked concrete with the sudden motion. Giggling, he approached, seizing a fistful of the hood and wrenching it back with a sharp twist. Jackie gagged briefly as the fabric pulled taut around his throat, hooking under his chin, forcing his head back.

Anti smiled widely down at him as they met eyes for the first time that day and then offered another, more definitive tug. Jackie’s second breath didn’t make it past his lips and he coughed a second time, muscles in his jaw flexing. As soon as his cracked, bloody lips opened, helplessly searching for air, Anti jammed two fingers between them, hitting the back of his throat instantly. Hooking his lower knuckles under Jackieboy’s top row of teeth, he pushed, craning his head back farther.

“Do̕n't ̸yo̷u ̧wa͟n͞t to ͘bi͡t͡e̴ ͠mȩ?” he taunted gleefully as the hero choked; he could feel a pained moan vibrating against his fingertips, unable to surface, and he let his nails scrape the roof of his mouth in reply. “Y̴ou ̷woul̢d̷'ve̛ t̵w͘o ̡we̡eks̡ ago. H̨ow̢ ̶tim̶es c̵hange!” The third tug of the hood popped a few stitches, loosening it, and Anti tutted in momentary disappointment before drawing his knife to replace it.

With Jackie’s head pulled back, he could clearly see the raw, red marks left by the strain on his pale throat, the faded bruises underneath, the glistening splotches left behind by grime and sweat, the quickening thump of his pulse… It was disgusting and ugly and _fascinating_. Anti took care as he leaned and pressed the knife against the damaged skin, forcing his fingers deeper in the same motion and delighting as Jackie took the risk to swallow, the edge of the blade rasping against old stubble under his chin.

Pressing his lips together in a grim little smirk, he swept the blade up with a sheer, angeled flourish. He could feel the hero’s throat spasm, a squawk of distress escaping as rivulets of blood spilled from the new gash under his chin. Wasting no time, Anti extracted his fingers from their hiding place and pressed them against the wound, soaking in the wet warmth of the saliva and blood mingling.

“W̧ho'͝s̸ ͘y̕our̷ ̡bl̢ood̡ r̛un͝nin̸g ̷for?̕” he demanded in a crackling hiss as Jackieboy wheezed and whined, chest heaving as he recaptured thin puffs of air. “Te͞l͞l̛ ̨me w̵ho҉ ̕y͜o̶u'͞r̨e b̷le̶ed̸ing f̵o͝r. _S̡ay̛ ͝it_ , _p͟u͜pp̛e͢t̷_.”

The hero breathed shakily for several more moments before prying his glazed eyes open, sliding over the Glitch’s expectant face. His pupils, blown wide with the pain, shimmered ever so faintly with silver, Anti noticed in mild surprise; he made certain that it didn’t show on his face. The remnant of power that remained in Jackieboy’s blood wasn’t enough to break his chains. It was enough, however, to clear the cloudy haze in Jackie’s eyes and make way for the tiniest spark of insolence.

“Them,” he croaked, his voice cracking with disuse and thirst. “I…ghh…I bleed…for _them_.”

“O͠h, _d͝o͏_ ͡yǫu͠?͜!” Jackie had no chance to react; Anti’s hand clamped like a vice around his neck, squeezed and thrust him back with such force that something in his lower ribs cracked. For once receiving no pleasure from the agonized cries, Anti forced the position, contorting his captive’s spine into a quivering, distended bow.

“Węll, loo͜ķ ̢at th̸at̛!̡” he screeched, his enraged tones pitching higher with every syllable. “You'll̵ ͠ _b̴end̶ ̴o̴v͠er̴ ba̸ckwa̴rds_ f̡or͞ ͢them͠!”

A solid knee to the solar plexus brought the hero heaving forward and then Anti whirled around, static thundering around his head and shoulders as he snatched up a well-used pipe, already crusted with old blood—soon to be wet with _more_.

“Let’s ͞see ̧if̢ y̴o͘u c̢an͠ ge͜t th͢e͠įr _a̢t͟t̢entiǫn!͜_ Ju͘s͡t̛ t̕ry i͟t̴, ͟p͟up͞pet! _Sc̢r͟eam ̴f͝o̶r ͘them!_ ” The crack of the pipe coming down on the hero’s shoulder was one Anti had always loved, but there was no love in this. All he could register was the churning rage of being defied, being mocked. He would beat that spark out of his puppet’s eyes with everything he had.

As soon as the pipe dislocated his shoulder, Jackie flung himself to the floor, covered his head to hide, and Anti targeted his wrists, his forearms, the exposed skin on his back. He wailed, he sobbed, but it was wordless. He _wasn’t obeying_.

“Scream for͝ t̡hem͟ t̴o̡ ͘ _sav̡e_ ͡y͢ou̧!̵” The next blow cracked. “S͢c̨re͜am!” He broke the skin. “ _B̵eg͢ ̢them̕!_ ”

“H—Help me!”

“ _Do͡ it!_ ”

“P-Please, somebody—”

“ _B̕y ̷na͢m̷e!̕_ ”

“H- _H-Henrik—!_ ”

“H͞e can͘'t sa̢v͜e͡ yo͠u͡!͟ ̡He _n͟ever͠ c̡o͘uld!͘_ ”

“Marvin, Ch-Chase, _please!_ Please—!”

“T̛h͟ęy—are͠n’t— _com͜i̶ng!͝_ ”

“ _Jack!_ ”

The dripping pipe stopped just short there. Anti paused for only a few moments, processing the name as Jackie sobbed wretchedly into the unforgiving floor.

“Ja͟ck͡… w̷on͘'̴t be ̨c̕o̢m̢ing e͝i͘th̢e̡r,” the Glitch announced, pensive and measured, the savage smile slowly returning to his face. “U̷n̴le͜s̨s̕ it̨’s to̡ ̡ _j̵oįn_ y̨ou̴.”

He raised the pipe again.

“No! N-No, _please!_ Somebody help me! Please—n-no— _no!_ _JACK!_ ”

**Author's Note:**

> Somebody save him.


End file.
